Words
by A Rabid Zombie
Summary: A series of small fics based off of random words, loosely connected. Not too serious and written for funsies. Many different pairings and main characters. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Dance

NOTE: As said in the description, this is just a lot of me getting random words from friends and using them to write little TF2 mini-fics. They aren't all directly related to each other, but they are all in the same little universe in ze game. I'm going to try to keep set pairings, but please don't be too made if I lose track and throw together two people when one of them has already had fluffy moments with someone else. :P Also, IF YOU ARE AGAINST GUYS LOVING GUYS FOR WHATEVER REASON, THIS MAY NOT BE THE FIC FOR YOU! Quick warning there, because I love guys who love guys. Since the chapters aren't all directly connected, at least you can skip one if there's a pairing you really don't want anything to do with and you probably won't be missing much. Whoo. If there's a random word you want to see, feel free to review or pm me and let me know. I'll get to it when I can, yeah? Great! Sorry if I'm not so good with typing the accents. . Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy! :D

Pairing: BSpy/BSniper

Disclaimer: I don't own Team Fortress 2 or the characters/world therein, silly! I'd be a lot less poor if that were the case. xD

~DANCE~

There was no music playing in the bowels of the BLU base at Tuefort, but that didn't stop the drunken stumbling of the team's resident Scottish cyclops. With all the grace one would expect from an inebriated Scott, the man was prancing and spinning and making a complete ass of himself, but damn did he look happy doing it. They had finished the day's battles and had thoroughly defeated the REDs, with the demolitions expert being the last the retrieve the enemy intel. He was dancing to celebrate.

Around the room, the others were all sharing in the excitement of a day well spent against their adversaries. The Scout was more than happy to take a few swigs of Scrumpy and took it upon himself to 'show the one-eyed wonder how its done' while the Pyro laughed in the psychotic way he, she, it usually does before joining in with some air guitar, as though that would provide some background music for the others to dance to. The Heavy and Engineer were both watching their team mates with amused expressions, one offering up encouraging words to his team in broken English and the other tapping a steady beat with his foot for the others to fallow. Even the Medic was trying to enjoy the festivities with stories about similar jovial behavior when he was young in Germany, but this sparked an argument between him and the Soldier that involved a lengthy discussion about what did and didn't qualify as "spineless Nazi scum".

The Sniper stood away from the rest of his team. He was watching them from a safe distance, much like his habits during battle. Being part of the group had never really been his thing and he wasn't about to start now. Especially if it meant the rest of the team finding out that he really did have two left feet. Standing still was something he could do. He could spend days in a single position, just waiting for the right moment to strike or move. It was part of hunting in the Outback. Still, he enjoyed standing away from the others, back against the wall, keen eyes hidden behind yellow aviators as he watched his team make fools of themselves for the sake of having fun and secretly envying them their ability to be so... unprofessional.

It didn't take more than a couple of hours before the men of Builder's League United started out of the intelligence room and up to the bed, or the kitchen area for a snack before bed. It was almost unnerving how abruptly the change from loud and happy to silent and alone was. The Sniper was the last one in the room with his back still against the wall. He wanted to leave with the rest of them, but it wasn't exactly his style. He hated being as shy as he was. It almost helped that he told himself it was because he liked to keep an air of professionalism with the team and that joining in wouldn't help that. He wasn't really fooling himself.

He was about to push away from the wall and head to his van when the air in front of him shifted and wavered. With a hint of smoke, the team's spy appeared before him, with his trademark cigarette hanging from his lips.

He lifted a gloved hand to his face and removed the gently burning stick before speaking, "'ow fitting that you and I do not partake in zese little team building exercises, mon tireur isole."

"We ain't exactly team players," The Australian shrugged. He was well aware that the rest of the team didn't think he did as much as they did, but their inability to appreciate the skill it takes to bag a moving target from a small window without being seen wasn't something that bothered him. Much. Usually. Sometimes, it did. He tried not to think about it.

It didn't take much movement for the cigarette to be tossed at their feet and put out by the toe of the Spy's expensive shoe. He smirked, "We are both team players in our own way, are we not? Even if the rest of zem do not acknowledge it."

The Sniper shrugged, somewhat uncomfortable. He wasn't used to anyone bothering to speak more than a few words to him, especially not the allusive Spy who didn't say much of anything beyond insults to anyone- team or no. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Zen we deserve to dance as well, non?" The Spy murmured, with a smirk.

The Sniper didn't have time to protest before a gloved hand grabbed his own and pulled him away from the wall. The Spy held one of the Sniper's hands in his own, the other coming to rest on the small of the taller man's back. He gently lead the Aussie away from the wall he had been watching from and through the room with careful movements. Dancing was, after all, something at which the Spy excelled. He was a man of class; it came with the job description.

Being lead by someone who was a good three inches shorter than himself wasn't too bad, but the part where it was a -man- a good three inches shorter than himself that bothered the Sniper. Still, he tried to keep pace with the spook's movements, his other hand awkwardly around the Frenchman's shoulders. His movements weren't the easy gliding of his dance partner. He was clumsy and unsure of himself at the beginning. Interacting with people made him some kind of uneasy, and dancing made him nervous. The combination of the two seemed like something designed specifically to humiliate the Sniper and remind him of his inadequacies in dealing with other human beings. It made him hold the other man closer to himself that what was necessary. Somehow, that was comforting. It might have been the Spy's cologne. Yeah, he'd blame that.

The longer they danced, the more used to it the Sniper got. He may not have been the best, but he was a quick enough study when he put his mind to it, and the Spy was keeping their pace slow enough that he could fall into the rhythm of their movements. With each step, the bushman's apprehension slid away and his stiff movements thawed into something that flowed better with the other.

"You are doing good, mon tireur," The Spy murmured as he lead the pair of them through the room in slow circles. He couldn't resist adding, "For a filthy jar man."

Once again, sounds of the room changed dramatically as the Sniper pushed away from his dance partner and stalked away, muttering to himself about bloody useless spies as he retreated to his van. The only noise left was the sound of the Spy's laughter as he watched his team mate leave.

The Sniper made it halfway to his room before he calmed down enough to realize that the Spy hadn't called him isolated and what the dance had meant.


	2. Kingdoms

NOTE: A much shorter fic this time. Solly centric. It made sense when I wrote it. Enjoy! :P

Pairings: None.

Disclaimer: I don't own Team Fortress two or the characters/world therein and am not making any money off of this. (A labor of love ((boredom)) really. xD )

KINGDOMS

As a boy, the Soldier had heard all the usual stories about knights and round tables and kings and battles against dragons. Those things all sounded fantastic to the child, and it stayed with him, in a sense. Americans didn't have the same history with kingdoms as Europeans had; there was no part in history class where the Soldier would have had to memorize the names of kings if he had cared enough to do the work- after all, that wasn't nearly as fun as leaning how to shoot things and memorizes Sun Tsi's the Art of War.

Years later, as an adult, the Soldier often found himself thinking back to those kingdoms of his youth. After all, day after day, he found himself in a valiant battle against fire-breathing beasts and archers and Nazis- he was pretty sure the King Arthur totally killed his fair share of Nazis while saving the town from the Sheriff of men in green tights or something like that. Yes, he found himself storming the enemy castle time and time again day after day and at no point did any of that ever bother him.

In fact, the Soldier, with his trusty shovel sidekick, found himself rescuing the fair maid Intel, and what a beauty she was, from the clutches of her BLU captors- especially that traitorous ass-hole of a Scottish cyclops who called him a civilian in that weird robot voice of his that the Soldier had never heard before or since. Just thinking about her sweet voice calling for his help was enough to encourage the Soldier to crack a few BLU skulls and risk life and limb to get into that dungeon under their castle where they kept her.

The rest of the team might have thought him insane, and maybe they were on to something with that, but the Soldier thought of himself as a modern day knight rescuing his fair maiden from the clutches of the enemy, and this place where he worked, Tuefort, was his kingdom to serve and protect until death do they part amen!


	3. Horns

NOTE: Pyro fic time! For the record, I love the Pyro for reasons. Also, as a side thing, not both of my Pyros are girls, just this one... because why not? :P I don't think I've said anything about this before, but I don't have any kind of BETA reader or anything, or please forgive any grammar/spelling/word mistakes. If anyone wants to BETA for me, fantastic. Until then, I am sorry for any and all mistakes. Anywho... enjoy! :D

Pairings: Not really any. Very slightly implied Pyro liking Engie.

Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or the characters/world therein. Just saying.

HORNS

The smell of flammable liquids and burnt hair and skin seemed to be permanently surrounding the Pyro, no matter how many times respawn brought her back to life. She didn't mind the smells, though. They were comforting to the possibly chemically imbalanced girl. Burning things was her passion and her life and she was proud to carry the stench of it around with her.

Her hobby, on the other hand, was terrorizing her enemies- especially that damn BLU Spy who was always trying to slip past her and into the base. It was a hobby she took very seriously, the same way the Scout took his little baseball thing seriously, or Engie and his toys. It was probably closer to the Texan and his toys, actually. She had never seen the Scout construct something for baseball purposes.

The Pyro rolled her eyes at the thought of that boy doing anything useful as she worked on her latest project. It took a surprising amount of time to make sure they looked just right and could be secured onto the mask properly without risk of falling off in the middle of the day as she was running around and burning things, but it was worth it. Oh. So. Worth it.

With a triumphant cheer that was muffled by the gas mask that hid her wild grin, the Pyro held two small objects up for inspection.

"What ya got there, partner?" Came her team mate's easy voice and slow accent. The Engineer had been glancing over every so often as she used space in his work shop for her little project, partially out of curiosity and partially to make sure nothing was going to be burnt to the ground by the firebug.

More muffled sounds and the Pyro attached her two finished products to her gas mask, glad that they went on as easily as they were supposed and were doing a fine job of staying. She watched the Engineer stare at her a moment, loving the small smile that crossed his face- he really was her favorite team mate and moments like this only reinforced that opinion. She gave him the thumbs up.

Engie let out a low whistle and said, "That does look mighty fine." He nodded his approval at the two little horns now sitting on the Pyro's head.

The Spy had called her a soulless monster once before, so she was now determined to prove him right and looking the part certainly couldn't hurt that.


	4. Hound

NOTE: A cute little Engie story. Please enjoy. :D

Pairings: None, really. Mention of Dell having a wife... that's about as close as it gets.

Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or the characters/world therein.

HOUND

After a long time of killing, being killed and general chaos over protecting his own team's Intel while trying to steal that of the other team and the equally chaotic days of living with eight men who were probably as chemically imbalanced as a human can be while still being able to function in a way their employer saw as useful, Dell was glad to get home. His trusty green truck was aged and he knew a few in his team wouldn't have thought it would survive the trip from Tuefort all the way back to Beecave, Texas, for the month long break the two teams were getting, but it made the drive without breaking down too badly. It was nothing that the engineer couldn't repair.

The first thing to greet the middle aged man was the sleepy town with its dust covered shops and country inhabitants who were more than happy to smile, wave, or nod at Dell as he drove by. Country folk really were a sight more polite than their busy city counterparts and it was refreshing to be surrounded by people who weren't trying to blow him up or stab him or carve him a structurally superfluous new behind.

After rolling through the small town, Dell navigated well remembered dirt roads until he came up on the cozy house he called home when he wasn't actively working for Builders League United. His wife and two kids were living in that house and he knew they would be thrilled when they saw his green truck pull up, but there was another who had been living there long before his wife moved in and their kids were born. One who was getting along in years, but would still run out to greet him the same way they had for years and years.

The truck's breaks squeaked as he came to a stop and the old door creaked when he opened it, his worn boot crunching on the gravel driveway as he stepped out into the evening sun. A light breeze played across the Texan's skin and he knew that, despite the heat of the day, it would be a mild night. He had missed the weather of his home.

Already, Dell heard an excited whine and the sound of four legs running towards him. The man knelt, a grin spreading on his unshaven face as his old girl ran to him, her tail wagging furiously and seeming to propel her on. This was his dog, and had been since he was a kid. He was well aware that some day she would break and he wouldn't be able to fix her, that there wouldn't be any respawn for her when she finally gave in, but that wasn't a concern at the moment. After all, he probably had another year or so to build some kind of robot body for her.

His calloused hand lovingly stroked the dog's golden fur as she licked his face with the same enthusiasm she always had, the familiar feeling making him grin wider. They were both getting old, but he still loved her and she still greeted him when he came home, even with her bad knees and arthritis. It was how things were. How they would be for years to come, if Dell had any say in it.

With his hound by his side, the Engineer strode towards his house. He had missed this feeling of coming home and planned to cherish all the time he had with his family until he would have to leave them again.


	5. Testament

NOTE: This one is very heavy on cursing because its about the oh-so-lovable Scout. Not for sensitive readers, I guess. Anywho, I hope you enjoy it! :D

Pairings: RED Spy/ BLU Scout's mom is mentioned (quite a bit) but that's pretty much it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or the characters/world therein.

~TESTAMENT~

Being a Scout was freaking difficult, like all the time. No one on your team thought you were good for anything, but what did they know- a bunch of old guys with no sense of humor- and every one on the other team was tying to kill you because they really wanted to throttle their own Scout and that 'friendly fire' technology crap wouldn't let them- and it was their job or some shit. Hated on all sides, really. But the worse, the absolute worst was being a Scout for the Builder's League United. Not only was he hated on all sides, but that damn enemy Spy was dating his mother. What was worse was she didn't see how much of a fucking douche bag the guy was. Neither the Spy nor the Scout told her that their jobs entailed killing each other repeatedly on a day to day basis. That was the only thing the two could really agree on where she was concerned. She didn't need to know about that.

It really didn't help matters that the rest of his team knew. Hell, the RED bastards probably knew by now, too. It went from them accusing him of being useless to them accusing him of purposefully going easy on his step father- which the guy totally wasn't; not yet, and not ever if the Scout had anything to say about it. Still, the fingers were always pointed at him when the REDs kicked their asses or when that shape-shifting rat sapped Engineer's shit or stole shit or whatever.

That had to change. If the Scout was going to survive on his team without bashing his own brains out 'cause he couldn't bash in the skulls of his team, he'd have to do something. He survived growing up in Boston with his Ma and his brothers, and he'd survive this. Hell, a lesser man would be freaking dead by now, but this was Scout. He was good at shit like this. He just had to do something to prove his entire team wrong, and show them that he wasn't worthless or letting those REDs win just 'cause one of them was- and he really hated this fact- banging his Ma.

The hag over the intercom was counting down the last few seconds before the match began and the Scout gripped his bat tightly. His quick mind was already visualizing just what he would do. Over and over again. His grin was the kind of thing that would give convicts nightmares. All badass. When the countdown was finished and they were allowed to start, the Scout ran out of the base. If the rest of the team had a plan, he didn't care. Was the Soldier yelling at him? Great. Didn't matter. Only one thing mattered.

The only good thing about that French bastard spending so much time around his Ma was that the Scout had had more than enough to learn what the hell the other man's cologne smelt like. That he had learned that at all was disturbing, but it was useful now so fuck it. Just looking wasn't enough with those damn shape-shifters. The Scout needed something more to tell him he was beating in the right skull, and his sense of smell would be just that. That and sheer luck. He had his luckiest baseball card tucked under his cap to take care of that. The thing never let him down and he was confident it wouldn't start any time soon.

He didn't worry about the Intel that day, choosing to focus instead on finding and killing the Frenchman. Anyone who got in his way was either avoided or taken out- depending on which was most convenient at the time. He was a man with a mission and a one-track mind; kill the RED Spy. Prove to his team that he didn't do a single damn thing to make life easier for that rat. Prove to them that he was damn good at what he did- and what he did was hurt people. By the end of the day, they'd all know it and the Spy sure as Hell wasn't going to forget anytime soon. He planned to kill that guy so hard and so many times, he'd respawn with a limp.

The end of the day saw the Scout with more kills than anyone else on the team, especially when he found the RED respawn room and spent the better part of the match killing that rat as soon as he came back- as well as a few others when they came back. It was when more than one respawned at once that the Scout found himself dying and coming back, but that was alright. Just meant he'd have to hunt down the Spy again. No problem. The rest of his team had been impressed. Enough so that, at least for that evening, the comments stopped.

Grass grows, birds fly, sun shines, and, brother, the Scout hurts people. That day was a testament to his skills, and his hatred of the man who dared date his Ma. She was too good for that rat loser anyways.


	6. Vigil

Note: Holy shit, an update! Medic centric.

Pairings: None.

Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or the characters/world therein.

VIGIL

There are few things that demonstrate the equality of man quite like medicine. Biology doesn't care if a man is tall or short, fat or thin, old or young. It's going to do what it does and medicine will have a reaction to it no matter what. Color and creed meant nothing to medicinal science and was as unimportant to the man who practiced said science for Reliable Excavation Demolition. The Medic would heal his team mates no matter which one it was- though there were quite a few days where he had many reasons to not want to. For any of them. He would anyway, though. Except for the few times when he let them die so they could learn a little humility. It was only a few times. Not nearly as many as they deserved.

On the field, it was difficult to tell just who needed what. The Soldier only actually said anything when he was near-dead because of his insistence that he didn't need the help of Nazis- despite the fact that the doctor had never been a Nazi. They were, after all, too shortsighted in their experiments and, really, only working on one type of person? How narrow minded. Jewish people and non-Jewish people were the same and both were perfect subjects as far as the Medic was concerned. He was an equal opportunity man of science.

The Scout, on the other hand, was likely to whine for help from a paper cut. He was too hyper and often ran out into danger, only to come limping back pitifully a moment later and looking for help. For someone who spent most of his time trying to prove how tough he was, the lad really was a baby. If he wasn't calling out for healing, he was crying for a dispenser. Those times had made the child somewhat like the boy who called wolf; it took a while for the Medic to be able to gauge the pitch and urgency in the boy's cries to know whether he really needed help or if he simply had a boo-boo he wanted treated.

The rest of the team were hit or miss; it really depended on if they were being stubborn or proud or single minded or if they didn't have enough going on to distract them from the pains of battle. It took a careful eye to determine where his help was most needed- even if getting there was more often than not a pain in the ass. The other team was not made completely of dummkopfs; they knew very well that a lone Medic was not the most threatening thing and that keeping him alive meant he'd be able to heal their enemies. He was a favored target; especially of the enemy Sniper. Still, it was the Medic's job to keep his team alive to the best of his abilities and, even if he did lose his license to practice after that little incident with the skeleton, it was his duty as a doctor.

Off the field of battle was no better for the German. In fact, he would sometimes call it worse. The up side of not having people trying to kill him was outweighed by the lack of working medigun or respawn. It made any injuries his team mates received one days off or after battles more serious and it took more to deal with them. He was the only one on the team who never truly had time off.

The others could all sit back and enjoy their time away from the field of battle if they chose to, but the Medic was on call always. He was watching over his team all hours of the day, all days. He had to. He was the only one who could. Sometimes, he was annoyed by that fact and by the complete lack of gratitude that came with his job, but he was usually alright. He may have been psychotic and unethical at times as well as a sadist- which he really didn't try to hide- but he was still a doctor and his team had, in their own ways, worked their ways onto his list of people he'd rather see alive than dead- even if it was only so he could watch them squirm on his examination table. Thankless job or no, potential dangers or no, dealing with the proud, the youthful and the annoying or no, the Medic knew that he would keep his vigil over the team and make sure they would be healthy and ready to fight when the time came. It was a duty he was proud of and would not trade for the world.


	7. Cry

Pairing: none

Disclaimer: I do not own TF2 or any of the characters/world therein.

Cry

A lone figure sat in the RED Engineer's workshop at Tuefort. Clad in all black, the figure was little more than a large silhouette in the center of the darkened workshop. There was no one else in the room with the figure. No one else needed to be there for that moment. No one would risk it. It was a delicate moment and there would have been comforting if they were women, but they were all men and could only offer solitude and uninterrupted time as consolation. Anything else wouldn't have been appreciated.

The last battle had held a series of unfortunate events that had, ultimately, lead to the death of a team mate. The kind of that couldn't be fixed with respawn. Respawn didn't work on Sasha. Her last hope had been the Engineer, but even he was unable to fix her. He just didn't have the parts that a delicate woman such as herself needed to function. Reliable Excavation Demolition would have to send a new gun for their Heavy to use, but he did not want a new gun. He wanted his gun. His Sasha.

She had been with him for so long, through so much. The memories of their times together flooded through the Russian man's mind and he could not stop the fine trembling of his large body. She would be missed. The last time he had experienced a loss like this was the death of his father. His mother and sisters were still alive and well. The rest of his team were protected from such things by the respawn system. But Sasha... she was not protected. She was gone. Forever. They would try to replace her, but it would not be the same.

"Oh, Sasha," he murmured, "You work with me for so long time. We kill together. We laugh together. We make itty bitty baby men cry together." He shook his head, running his hands over his scalp despite his lack of hair, "You were good girl, Sasha. So good. I am sorry. So sorry, Sasha." The trembling was getting worse. "I am sorry I never got you better bed. You deserved better."

He had been holding the water back. He had been trying so hard to stay strong for his Sasha. He never wanted her to see him so weak. Still. The first little droplet fell, landing and making an incriminating wet stain on the table he was hunched over. The one that held his poor Sasha. The first drop was fallowed by another. And another. They flowed with increasing frequency and fell upon the table like rain upon the battlefield, making little thuds like bodies hitting the ground after being torn asunder by $200 bullets fired from his beloved gun. "I am sorry, Sasha. So sorry."

Outside the room, the Medic and the Engineer stood. Both were concerned with their team mate, but neither could go in and comfort him. The Heavy was a proud man. He would not have allowed anyone on the team to see him so weak. Rooted to their spots outside the door, the two could only watch helplessly as their friend and team mate mourned the loss of his gun. Neither would dare tell the others that, on that abnormally cold night, surrounded by shadows, the Heavy mourned the loss of his faithful companion with tears.


	8. Chamber

Note: There was actually a chapter between the last word and this one called HIPS. A few guesses as to why I couldn't post it here. :P

Pairings: REDEngie/REDScout

Disclaimer: I do not own Team fortress 2 or any of the characters therein.

CHAMBER

"Yo, hey, Pops!" The RED Engineer looked up at a familiar voice, matched by a familiar face with a familiar scowl.

It was long past three in the morning and there was a good chance the rest of the classes were either asleep or busying themselves in their own rooms. The Engineer usually worked well into the night and there were times when he would go a day or two without sleep for the sake of perfecting his latest design or trying to figure out something that would keep his babies safe from the dang-gum enemy Spy. That the youngest member of Reliable Demolition Excavation's team of mercenaries was going out of his way to talk to the Engineer would have been odd to other members of the team if they had been awake and observant, or even to the man in the workshop if he didn't have a sneaking suspicion he knew what the kid was there for. Personally, he would have preferred some kind of relationship that was more than having sex behind everyone's backs- maybe having sex and spending time together for the sake of spending time together behind everyone's backs, that would be nice. Companionship.

The Texan couldn't help but smile, "If I were a woman, I'd say that was an oddly Oedipal nickname there, partner."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"You really should brush up on your readin' sometime."

With a snort, the speedy young man shook his head, "Whatever." He strode casually into the Engineer's work place and plopped his scattergun down on the same worktable he had been occupying almost every night for the past week and that was currently occupied by a set of blueprints. "Its broken."

"Broken?" The Texan's eyebrow arched above his work goggles as he stared down at the gun on the table. Normally, he would have been annoyed at something being dropped on his blueprints and moved the offending gun to the side with a mildly irked promise to get to it sometime later that would probably be a blatant lie if only the spite the offender, but he had a soft spot for this kid. He picked the thing up and looked over it for a moment before shaking his head and quietly asking in his usual drawl, "It ain't firin' right, is it, partner?"

The Bostonian youth shrugged, sitting himself down on a stool next to the older man. It wasn't that he wanted some kind of excuse to be with his lover- the Scout wasn't that faggy and he sure as hell wasn't some kind of sentimental bitch or anything- he just liked complaining as much as he liked not having to do work if he could sucker someone else into it. That was all. That was totally what he was doing. Right.

"Y'all just gotta clean the chamber." The words were softly chiding; it was the same tone he had used with the younger men he had tutored every so often while working on his doctorates. His smile was as gentle as his tone had been as he held the gun out to its rightful owner, "If ya want, yer welcome to use anythin' in the shop to do it. Of course, it could take a while, kid."

With a snort, bandaged hands took the gun from the calloused hands of the other man, "Yeah, yeah. I don't keep any crap around for that kinda thing." It was a blatant lie, but he wasn't gonna admit that to anyone ever; he still wasn't a fag. "Guess I'll just have to come here to fix it."

Both men were smiling to themselves as they worked on their respective projects in the dim workshop. It would have been an uncomfortable silence between them if they had been in the presence of anyone else- especially for the talkative Scout- but, between those two, it was nice. Even relaxing. Enjoyable.


End file.
